


Blood of the Covenant

by Erisden



Category: Apostle (2018)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Family, Gen, Healing, Pagan Gods, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisden/pseuds/Erisden
Summary: Come nearer, Our child, and we will speak to you the stories your young ears wish to hear, when night falls and your energy wanes, overtaken by curiosity of youth. You, who do not know the world as we do, who do not know the Earth as we do, who carry understanding only of yourself and your kind and nothing else. You, whose tainted mind, since birth, has absorbed the fallacies of your human race and taken for truth all the lies your mother and father have told you, of God and his people and his books from long ago.





	Blood of the Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> Small origin story covering the religious lore of Apostle (2018).

We say that, long ago, no soul that crossed from these surrounding waters could leave without paying homage to the Mother and Her kind. Her existence upon Our land spanned for far longer than even you, little one, could begin to understand. When the Earth came into existence, She came with it, born into the soil to bloom in the grass, the trees, the flowers. Her veins grew deep into the dirt: tree and flower and grass roots, an intricate system which spread across the valleys, the hills, the highest peaks of Our land, so that She might overlook any intruders who came. Her system ran to the lowest depths, and She took from Her own Mother what She needed to survive. Her breath came of rushing water, Her hunger came of crying animals, Her laughter came of chirruping birds. She was nature Herself, and all the flora and fauna bowed to Her, for they knew who She was.

As She thrived and existed because of Her land, so, too, did Her land thrive and exist because of Her. Where She walked, the land flourished. Flowers bloomed in Her steps and trees grew at Her touch. When She slit Her palm above Her crops and Her blood fell heavy and true upon the dirt, they never failed nor faltered nor died, but sprouted true, unfolding from Her blessing into something beautiful and magnificent and Heavenly-made. This was Her Eden, Her garden, and it thanked Her with beauty and crowned Her with leaves and sharp thorns that pricked Her skin and drank Her blood. She was kind, She was gentle, She was life.

Then, once upon a time, or where Our story begins, there came three men from far, far away, exiled from their own lands and treated as sinners for their waning conviction in a dying peoples’ God. She felt the faith in their hearts when they stepped onto Her land, and knew that She could reveal Herself to them, that they would recognise Her as the Mother of this island, that they would treat Her with love and dignity, as they never had with their old faith. She, with Her kind heart and Her forgiving smile, would never banish them from this island, but accept them with open arms. 

Though two of these men were pure of heart, one man carried the curse of hatred inside of him. It was he who found what he could do with Her. How he could use Her for their gain. When She revealed to him Her arms, laced with webbed scars from feeding Her land, and Her hallowed, bloodied ground, wrought so not by war but by love, this scheming man took Her to a place deep in the forests of Her home, whispering promises of deliverance and conviction and belief that She, and She alone, deserved. The two men looked on and spoke of nothing as their companion tied Her to Her fate and to his own blood, so that She could never escape. Upon Her land, they imposed the name Erisden that you know now, and forced Her to bow to their searing ways.

For years, She survived beneath their boots, drinking the blood of the faithful who came to their land chewing oaths of their veneration in Her. As more and more worshippers came, more of more of the land withered and waned, and these three men offered more blood to Her. She became dependent upon the drink, and the drink, in turn, became less potent. Crops began to wither, trees began to die, grasses began to yellow. The land became ash, and Her people began to suffer. 

Her prophets believed that their Mother had forsaken them, and so they brought a daughter to Her, in the hopes that her blood would win back Her good favour. They tortured her, drew tears from her eyes and bullied the pain of hunger into her stomach and sliced her feet in the hopes that she would appease Her. But She was not appeased, and grew angry at these men who ground their own kind into the dirt for their own good, and, in weeks, the land fell into mortal ruin.

But then came another, a brother, whose lifeblood sang a song to the Mother his defiance of the God who stranded him in the fire with the Devil, again and again and again: the Devil, whose markings marred his skin and his spirit and made him imperfect. He bled with love for his sister, sacrificed his spirit so that she would survive the hatred and agony that the prophets wrought upon her, and his blood boiled, furious and passionate and energising, screaming beautifully like music to Her ears, far stronger than Her prophets could ever hope to be. That is why, dear one, She chose to appear to him and charge, through his desperation and desolation, a renewed faith, different in energy now than any he had experienced before: one that would never leave him. When those men showed to him their true colours, he ran to Her, broken and battered and bleeding, and She opened his eyes and showed him his fate, his new destiny: to rise above the absent God and take the Mother’s place here.

As they abandoned their Mother, he stayed, and one, filled with faith and worry for Her land, stood solid by his side. Together, they replenished the land, and the land asked only for his new veins to crowd through the soil and feed it what it so desperately yearned for. Little by little, the land and its colour returned, grew new life. Our prophet vowed that he would bring new followers, and you, child, came with them, new and wide-eyed and keen, with a heart beating with purity and curiosity.

Understand, now, why We must ask you to sacrifice your strength and soul and life to Us. You will live as We live, and breathe as We breathe, and eat as all your family and comrades eat upon this land. Where We walk, the land flourishes. Flowers bloom in Our steps and trees grow at Our touch. When We slit Our palm above Our crops and Our blood falls heavy and true upon the dirt, they never fail nor falter nor die, but sprout true, unfolding from Our blessing into something beautiful and magnificent and Heavenly-made. This is Our Eden.

One day, when you grow older and more enlightened, and your blood sings as Ours sings, you will know why you sit here, your legs crossed in the dirt, your fingers and knuckles covered in dirt, your clothing and your arms torn by the very faith that binds you to Us, and listen to Our story. You are what We are, and your smiling eyes, filled with grace and forgiveness for every man, woman, and child who walks upon Our Erisden, will soon know what We see.

And you will live.


End file.
